


Got You On My Mind

by d_dandelions



Series: Axii Omo Shenanigans [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bladder Control, Consensual Mind Control, Desperation, Established Relationship, Full Bladder Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Omorashi, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25422790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_dandelions/pseuds/d_dandelions
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier explore some non-Kaer Morhen approved uses for the sign of Axii
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Axii Omo Shenanigans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855774
Comments: 65
Kudos: 327
Collections: Witcher Omorashi





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr sent me a brain-meltingly hot ask about using Axii for omo and it inspired so many ideas in my head, here we GO! Starting off with the first scenario here – Geralt using Axii to make Jaskier unable to pee
> 
> (Technically the chapters of this fic are going to be part of the same narrative but they’ll likely be distinct enough that you can skip any if a particular scenario does or doesn’t appeal to you. *Then* I’m going to move on to one or two separate Axii omo stories because this fic really is shaping up to be my life’s work) 
> 
> Chapter specific warnings: Public sex that gets interrupted by virtue of being public sex (if that’s not for you skip the first few paragraphs), brief use of Axii on an unnamed side character

Normally Geralt would have heard the man coming from miles away but then, normally, Jaskier wouldn’t have been so excited by the sight of Geralt in action during a hunt that he begged the witcher to fuck him against the wall of the nearby farmhouse. So really neither of them were at their best this evening. 

Jaskier normally put up at least a token protest before they fucked outdoors but this time he’d only yelped in delight as Geralt pushed him face-first into the wall and held him there. He didn’t even jokingly plead with Geralt not to accidentally use necrophage oil to finger him open, something he normally took great delight in doing when they fucked post-hunt.

Clearly the sight of Geralt taking out five ghouls in a matter of minutes had appealed to him in some way.

By the time Geralt gets inside Jaskier the bard’s already moaning a litany of encouragements peppered with shouts of Geralt’s name and it really shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is when a man appears around the corner of the, apparently not abandoned, farmhouse and demands to know what the _fuck_ they think they’re doing. They both freeze.

Axii seems an excessive solution to a problem like this but Geralt’s a little too distracted by the warm press of Jaskier’s body against his, the soft little sounds he’s still making and the addictive feeling of being inside him to think of any other. And he’d really like to finish soon. He makes the sign with the hand he’d been bracing against the wall and growls, as quickly as he can, “Leave. Go home. Forget you saw us here.”

The man’s face goes slack and he walks away without another word. 

Jaskier comes instantly.

**

At first Geralt assumed it had been the witness. Jaskier always loves an audience, he loves the idea of being watched. Geralt suspects he knows _exactly_ how good he looks and sounds taking cock and likes the thought of other people getting to see it too.

But then, not even a full day later, Jaskier starts asking questions. Pointed questions. 

“Would it work on me?” he’d stopped strumming as he walked a few minutes ago and Geralt had been waiting for him to come out with whatever it was he was thinking about, “your Axii trick, could you do it on me?”

“Yes.” Geralt realises how it sounds as soon as he says it, “I don’t. I haven’t.”

“What? Oh don’t fret, I know,” Jaskier waves a hand dismissively, “I was just thinking that you _could_ have shut me up and sent me on my way after we first met, if you wanted to. But you didn’t really want to, did you?” 

Jaskier’s smiling cheekily, completely unperturbed by the knowledge that his travelling companion could influence his mind whenever he felt like it, and Geralt feels the not unfamiliar urge to shout at him, force him to see just how much danger he’s putting himself in just by being around a witcher. 

He doesn’t. Instead he ignores Jaskier’s knowing grin and hopes that’s the last he’ll hear from his bard about Axii.

**

It isn’t.

It’s in the aftermath of a particularly well-received performance that Jaskier next brings it up. He joins Geralt at the table flushed and happy and immediately starts asking questions about what exactly Geralt could make him do with Axii. From anyone else Geralt would have assumed it was an assessment of threat but Jaskier just seems genuinely curious, if not utterly delighted, to learn a bit more about his witcher. His line of questioning has grown awfully repetitive and Geralt’s starting to tire of answering ‘yes’ to his every inane question when the bard excuses himself and steps outside. 

Geralt follows him out. Normally he’d grant Jaskier some privacy to take care of his needs but he’s spent the evening watching a sour-faced, bulky man eye the bard from the corner of the tavern and he suspects he either wants Jaskier dead for some past transgression or simply wants Jaskier. Either way, Geralt was loathe to let his bard visit the dim, deserted back alley alone. 

If the company bothers Jaskier he certainly doesn’t show it, chattering happily to Geralt as he pulls out his cock and starts to piss. He lets out a tiny, contented sigh and then, seemingly out of nowhere, the sharp smell of arousal floods Geralt’s nose. 

“Could you…” Jaskier begins cautiously, “could you stop me from doing _this_?” His voice is remarkably level. If Geralt couldn’t smell him he’d have no way of knowing how much the idea is turning him on.

“Yes.”

“Bollocks!” he says, incredulously, “could you really?” Jaskier’s voice is starting to betray his excitement. He shakes himself off and tucks his cock back into his pants. 

Geralt nods.

“….would you?” It was the inevitable request, the one all the questions had been leading to. Geralt thinks about it. He imagines Jaskier desperate and helpless, pleading with Geralt to let him piss. He thinks about how fucking good Jaskier would look in the moment he’s right on the edge of leaking and imagines stretching that moment out as long as he pleased, Jaskier powerless to stop him. He imagines the look of betrayal on Jaskier’s face afterwards. He imagines Jaskier scared of him, afraid of being violated again, leaving.

Wordlessly Geralt turns away from Jaskier and walks back into the tavern. 

**

Jaskier doesn’t leave him alone with his thoughts for long, half-jogging to follow him upstairs and kissing him lightly as soon as he has him alone. 

“I only asked because I trust you, Geralt,” he kisses the witcher again, with more heat this time, “I _know_ you’re not going to really hurt me, it’s not who you are. It turns me on when you take charge. I like the idea of you denying me.” Geralt can _feel_ just how much Jaskier likes the idea where the bard is pressed against him. Obviously Jaskier can feel that Geralt, despite himself, likes the idea too because he starts to slowly rock his hips into him as he talks.

“If it got unbearable I’d use the word but if not…” the slow grind of Jaskier’s erection against his is making a compelling point, “if it works you’d be completely in control of when I get to go. I’d be helpless. And I’d love it.” 

“It would work.” Geralt has absolutely no doubt of that. Jaskier takes his words as the encouragement they very nearly are.

“Think about it! I could beg you to let me go and you could ignore me. You _love_ ignoring me, it’s perfect!” 

Geralt thinks he may need to give it some more consideration. But, right now, the only thing he’s sure he needs is Jaskier.

**

Afterwards Jaskier lets himself flop heavily on top of Geralt. If past experience is any indicator he’ll want to move again and clean up before they sleep but, for the moment, Geralt allows himself to enjoy the closeness for what it is. It’s a few minutes before Jaskier talks again.

“If you truly don’t want to do it we don’t have to. I always have a wonderful time with you regardless,” he kisses the tip of Geralt’s nose, “but please don’t say you won’t do it because you think you’re going to scare me away. I trust you more than anyone, Geralt, and you don’t scare me.”

Damn the bard and his infuriating ability to always know exactly what was bothering Geralt. 

“Can you trust me?” Jaskier’s voice is gentle and he smells content and affectionate with a darker hint of eager anticipation, “Can you trust me to trust you?”

Geralt waits for a few moments but Jaskier’s scent doesn’t change. He isn’t lying; he really isn’t scared by the idea of having a witcher in his head, forcing his body to deny its own needs. He isn’t scared of _Geralt_ being in his head. Because he trusts him. Eventually Geralt hums an affirmative. 

“Good,” Jaskier nips playfully at his jaw, “don’t be nice to me tomorrow.”

**

The less than subtle hopeful glance Jaskier sends him the next morning as he sleepily makes for the chamber pot is the only confirmation Geralt needs that he truly does want to go through with this. He waits until the bard is positioned and right on the edge of letting go before he makes the sign. Jaskier’s eyes cloud a little.

“You will not be able to piss, however much you need to, until I say you can.” 

Jaskier blinks and his dazed expression lifts. For all his eagerness to experiment with Axii it’s obvious to Geralt that he still doesn’t _really_ expect this to work. He shoots Geralt a cocky grin and tries to piss.

And tries.

And _tries_.

He visibly strains himself to do it, gritting his teeth and tensing every muscle in his body. He even hops up and down a little. Geralt watches him the whole time with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile, waiting for him to realise it isn’t going to work. By the time Jaskier gives up he’s flushed and panting and he hasn’t managed to spill a single drop.

“I don’t need to go that much yet,” Jaskier says, unconvincingly, “but this won’t hold up when I do, bodies don’t _work_ like that Geralt.”

It would hold up. It would hold up no matter how desperate Jaskier got.

“If that’s true, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Geralt hands him a mostly full waterskin, “finish it.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen and he laughs nervously. For a moment Geralt thinks he might give up then and there but Jaskier’s never been one to shy away from a challenge. Though he’s squeezing his thighs together by the end of it he holds eye contact with Geralt as he drinks the whole thing. 

**

By the time they make it downstairs Jaskier’s fidgeting constantly. Geralt ignores him and strikes up a conversation with the innkeeper about which nearby towns would be likely to have work for a witcher. She’s much more relaxed around Geralt than she had been when she met him yesterday and Geralt suspects he has Jaskier’s songs from the night before to thank for it. The bard himself is uncharacteristically quiet through the exchange.

“Is he alright?” The innkeeper looks behind Geralt to where Jaskier is shuffling from foot to foot and fiddling with the strap of his lute. He startles at the attention.

“Who me? I’m fine, better than fine! Just eager to go,” he flinches at his wording, “that is to say, eager to get back on the road and take in some more of the rapturous beauty of Velen!” 

She looks unconvinced and Velen is conspicuously devoid of any rapturous beauty but she lets them leave without any more questions. As soon as they’re outside Jaskier darts around the corner of the inn and tries, again unsuccessfully, to empty his bladder.

“It will feel worse if you keep trying.” Geralt warns to no avail. Privately he’s a little thrilled at the thought of it getting worse for Jaskier, the bard is already showing his need so dramatically and his bladder can’t possibly be full already. 

**

In all honesty, Jaskier hadn’t really been expecting this to work. It wasn’t that he lacked faith in his witcher, not at all, it was more that, well….

Geralt had a tendency to overestimate just how horrifying his witcher abilities were at times. Whether it was due to an inclination to think of himself as monstrous or a sheer inability to understand just how durable humans could be Jaskier wasn’t sure but, despite his fantasies, he hadn’t truly thought Geralt would be able to make him _physically incapable_ of pissing. 

And then he’d tried to go. 

It had felt completely bizarre. It was as if the piss made it all the way to the very tip of his cock and then just….stopped. He truly hadn’t needed to go that badly when he’d first tried but the sensation was one of absolute urgency, one that had him convinced he needed to go _right then_ , and it had gone against all of his instincts to give up without getting his relief.

Now here he was, glaring at the wall, glaring at his cock, glaring at Geralt and still completely unable to go. If he closes his eyes he can visualise it, his stream hitting the dirt, the sound of it, the _relief_ he’d feel. Then he opens them again and there’s nothing but that urgent, immovable pressure.

Geralt _had_ warned him that trying would only make it worse but he couldn’t help it. He felt like he was about to wet himself and the urge to pull out his cock and go before he did was simply too strong to deny entirely. Nevertheless he’s been standing here for far too long and the cold morning breeze on the tip of his cock is making his desperation even harder to tolerate. For the second time that day he tucks himself away without relief. 

** 

Okay, Geralt really had been onto something when he’d warned him about trying to go.

Even though Jaskier _knows_ that he physically doesn’t need to do anything to keep from wetting himself, that he literally _can’t_ wet himself right now, the intensity of his urge has him dancing on the spot. Geralt, who’d clearly taken Jaskier’s request not to be kind to heart, makes absolutely no effort to slow his typical brisk pace to accommodate Jaskier’s awkward shuffling and the bard is left hurrying helplessly after him as he made his way to the stables. He wants to piss. He wants to beg Geralt to let him piss.

He turns his most pleading pout on the witcher, the one that’s got Geralt to attend three separate court performances he’d swore he’d never go to, and _begs_.

“Geralt, _please_ let me piss, I need to go so badly. Please?”

Geralt looks up from where he’s been adjusting Roach’s girth and gives Jaskier an unimpressed once over, taking in his wide eyes, crossed legs and the tiny aborted motions his hand keeps making towards his crotch.

“Hmm. I think you can wait,” he says, flatly, before turning right back to Roach. It sends a hot shock of pure arousal through Jaskier and, from the smile Geralt can’t quite hide as he turns, it seems the witcher picked up on the smell. Jaskier reddens. 

“Oh. Well, er, in that case, I’m just going to go and…” he gestures vaguely outside and Geralt scoffs.

“You can try.”

It should _not_ be so appealing to hear him being cocky about this.

Jaskier strains to piss until he’s sweating and hopes no one but Geralt hears his shout of frustration when he finally gives up.

**

After a few hours of travelling, a brief, squirmy stop to eat and then even _more_ travelling Jaskier’s sure he’s about to burst. He’d rushed to a tree in a desperate hurry no less than four times, sure he was about to wet himself only to find he still couldn’t even produce the slightest trickle. Each time being so close to relief is a torment that leaves him that much more desperate and, despite how overwhelmingly good it feels to be in Geralt’s power like this, it still takes all of his self-control not to give in and use the word they had agreed to. 

His witcher is doing an admirable job ignoring Jaskier’s very pretty begging, even after all the sordid sexual favours Jaskier had promised him if he let him go. Distracted as he was Jaskier had still made note of the ones that made Geralt shift in his saddle, it never hurt to be prepared after all. Geralt, _had_ , however been paying _very_ close attention to Jaskier’s liquid intake, so worried he might be dehydrating in the warm spring sun and, really, wasn’t that just so very _kind_ of him. Arsehole. Jaskier feels full to bursting, he would have been desperate for a stop by now even without Axii’s influence.

Jaskier had soon worked out that, if he positioned his lute case at the exact right angle, he could hold himself fairly inconspicuously but there was nothing at all he could do in the face of his body’s complete and utter biological certainty that it was going to leak. Everything in him screams that the piss is _right there_ and about to come out and that he needs to find a place to relieve himself _now_ if he doesn’t want to make a mess of his clothes. And so he can’t stop _trying_ and the harder he tries the more intense his desperation grows. 

He can’t keep walking. He stops and grips his crotch with both hands, crossing his legs frantically and whining. He’s so desperate, so impossibly desperate, Axii or not surely he can’t hold it another second, _surely_.

He’s barely aware that Geralt’s pulled Roach to a stop and dismounted until he feels the witcher’s broad hands on his. Geralt tugs his hands away from his crotch, ignoring his helpless whimper, and looks intensely at him for a few seconds. He drops Jaskier’s hands again and says, without a hint of ceremony, “You can go.” 

At first it’s only a tiny trickle as Jaskier’s body readjusts to the freedom and the bard _howls_ at the release that isn’t any relief. Geralt shushes him, almost soothingly, and holds Jaskier steady when his legs start to tremble. Jaskier loses a few more drops into his smallclothes before he frantically scrambles to get his cock out, it’s driving him absolutely mad to try and hold it in now when he’s so desperate and _finally_ on the verge of getting his relief but he refuses to make it this far only to ruin his clothes. Geralt’s hands push his aside yet again and he whispers a quiet “no” of protest before he realises that Geralt’s helping him, pulling his cock gently out of his trousers and aiming it at the ground.

“You can go,” he growls again, right into Jaskier’s ear. 

At last, Jaskier does.

It still takes a moment for his stream to build up but when it does it’s torrential and he can’t hold back a moan. He lets himself lean back into Geralt, lets the witcher support his full weight and finally gives in to the feeling of complete and utter _relief_. It pours out of him for what feels like hours, he’s shocked to discover just how hard he can piss, and the relief is sheer ecstasy. He feels weightless and he barely even notices when Geralt shifts them both back a little to avoid the enormous puddle forming at their feet. No wonder he’d been so fucking desperate if all of _that_ had been locked inside his bladder.

Before he’s quite finished he’s aware of Geralt’s erection pressing into his lower back and he lets out the witcher’s name as a blissful groan just to feel it twitch against him. He can’t help a smug, satisfied smile. He _knew_ his witcher would enjoy this. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, as his stream finally slows to a stop, “oh fuck, I’d really very much like to fuck you right now, witcher, how far away is that inn?”

“Who said we’re making it to the inn?” Geralt growls, still pressing so hot and hard against him.

Jaskier whimpers.

They don’t make it to the inn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last I give you desperate Geralt (and some updated tags!) yaaay!!
> 
> The ideas for using Axii for interruptions + Geralt being interrupted by Jaskier were shamelessly borrowed/stolen from ssleif (halehavetogosometime on tumblr) and they’re ones I’ll probably revisit because hot damn. Thank you so much for the suggestions and for being amazing!

The kikimore’s corpse has barely stopped twitching when Geralt rushes to undo his trousers. He’s desperate, absolutely frantic to piss and it’s only his use of Axii that’s keeping him from losing it into his smallclothes. Normally a little urine during a fight would hardly be a cause for concern but the kikimore’s keen sense of smell would have picked up on it far too easily, he would have lost any advantage granted to him by the creature’s blindness. Add to that how urgently he knew he’d need to pee after the potions he’d taken for the fight and it had really been no choice at all. 

Technically it’s Jaskier he has to thank for the idea. Ever since he’d used Axii to indulge the bard’s fantasy he’d wondered about its practical applications for hunting. It was difficult for him to cast the sign on himself, but not impossible and he’d found it surprisingly beneficial in moments when he truly couldn’t afford to leak. Still, he’s rather glad Jaskier isn’t around to see him looking so ridiculously desperate in this moment as he lifts the command and finally lets go. 

He’s barely started peeing, hasn’t been going for long enough to truly feel relieved, when he hears something moving through the bushes. For a few seconds he wonders if he should stop his piss or push harder to finish it and, in the short moment he spends considering his options, the sound moves closer and his chance to finish emptying his bladder is gone. Holding back an agonised groan at having to delay even further he uses Axii again and his stream stops immediately, even as his still full bladder sends frantic signals to keep going, to get his _relief_. It’s sheer torture, even worse for having had that small release, and his bladder is a painful pressure as he tucks his cock away and reaches for his sword. He’s desperate to undo the sign and let himself finish but he can’t afford to be caught in such a vulnerable position, not with whatever’s causing that noise so close. 

Fuck, _fuck_ , Geralt can’t detect the distinctive stench of a necrophage but it could easily be another threat, a barghest, maybe, or even simply a wolf. It could be bandits or, perhaps even worse, travelling merchants who wouldn’t take scowling silence as an answer, who he’d have to deal with, distracted and urgently needing to finish his piss, without even the aid of…..

“Jaskier.” 

The bard stumbles out of the bushes, holding his lute far above the branches and attempting to kick away the brambles caught around his boot, exclaiming Geralt’s name in delight. His strangely contradictory scent of light florals and musk is everywhere and Geralt attributes missing it before to the sheer unlikeliness of seeing Jaskier here. They’d been planning to meet in Oxenfurt, two weeks from now. This isn’t Oxenfurt.

“This isn’t Oxenfurt.” 

“Astute as always, my dear! No, I’d say this dark and gloomy forest is somewhat lacking Oxenfurt’s architectural splendour. And _no one_ here has _any_ appreciation for the arts! But, you see, I wanted to see you and two weeks seemed such a terribly long time to wait.”

“Lacking inspiration for your songs? Or was the city just feeling a little small for you?”

“No! Well…” Jaskier pauses, considering, “maybe a little. Mostly, though, I just missed you.”

It’s the sort of startlingly earnest declaration that Jaskier never seems to shy away from. If words came more easily to Geralt perhaps he’d be able to tell the bard he’d missed him too. Instead he moves on to his next concern.

“Hmm. How’d you know I’d be here? I only took this contract yesterday.”

“Oh, I didn’t, really. I decided if I followed enough rumours of monsters and witchers eventually I’d be sure to stumble across _my_ witcher. And so I did!”

Jaskier looks remarkably proud of his terrible plan. Geralt closes his eyes in despair at the thought of his ridiculous, foppish bard trouncing aimlessly and unarmed through the wilderness in the name of finding Geralt. He tries not to think about what might have happened if he’d run into a monster, or even the wrong witcher, all alone but he can’t help but picture it. The uncomfortable tension the thought evokes makes him excruciatingly aware of the throbbing pressure in his bladder and he shifts on the spot without quite meaning to. Jaskier, of course, notices the movement immediately.

“Fuck, Geralt are you okay? Did it hurt you?” he rushes to Geralt, noticing the nearby corpse seemingly for the first time and dodging around it with a quiet “yikes.” As soon as he’s in front of Geralt he’s running his hands over his sides, frowning and smelling of worry. 

“I’m fine Jaskier.” It’s undeniably pleasant to feel Jaskier’s talented hands on him again, even in the context of a methodical search for injuries, but if he keeps going he’s surely going to end up pressing on…

Geralt grunts and twists his thighs together when Jaskier pushes against his stomach in exactly the wrong spot. Jaskier winces in sympathy, jerks his hands away and steps back. His eyes widen as he takes in Geralt’s posture. 

“Oh. _Oh_.” 

Jaskier’s face is unreadable as he stares at Geralt and the witcher, who has seen Jaskier desperate to pee so many times before, suddenly feels impossibly self-conscious to be seen by him in this state.

“Of course, the fight, the potions….I interrupted you, didn’t I?” Jaskier’s voice is soft but there’s a sharp heat to his gaze, “you must be _desperate_.”

He sounds almost reverent. Geralt shivers. 

“You used Axii, didn’t you!” It’s not a question. Jaskier’s exclamation is simultaneously delighted and accusatory and Geralt can make out the low scent of his arousal. _Of course_. His bard has a _thing_ for Axii and desperation both and it’s apparently not limited to times when he himself is the subject of them. 

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Jaskier’s stepped closer to him again and he lets his hands rest softly just over Geralt’s bladder. He doesn’t press down but the fact that he could, that he _might_ is enough to have Geralt on edge. Jaskier’s…..not wrong. Before, when his bladder was just an uncomfortable, dangerous distraction from a fight, he hadn’t been aware of it but now, safe, with Jaskier, with Jaskier touching him…..it’s different. He can’t bring himself to say it, or even just to nod, but Jaskier reads it on him anyway. 

“I have a room, it’s only a short ride away,” Jaskier’s really starting to stink of arousal now, “if your contract can wait, I’d very much like to take you there.” 

Geralt decides his contract can wait.

**

For once Jaskier hadn’t been exaggerating; the inn he was staying at really is close by, a twenty-minute ride at most. 

It feels a lot longer to Geralt.

He barely resists the urge to hold himself as he dismounts and he fidgets incessantly as he settles Roach in the stables. There’s a small upturned bucket in the corner and he can’t stop glancing at it, imagining letting go, finally being free of this unbearable pressure. When he’d used Axii on Jaskier the bard hadn’t been able to help trying to go, even knowing he couldn’t and Geralt hadn’t really understood the compulsion. Now the overpowering, instinctive urge to avoid wetting himself almost has him doing the same thing. Jaskier’s inside, arranging the payment for Roach’s stabling, maybe Geralt could lift the sign for just a moment, let just a little out, surely it would make the pressure more bearable and Jaskier would never even have to know….

But that’s not really the game, is it? 

He allows himself one last hard, humiliating squeeze between his legs before he sets his shoulders and strides out of the stables towards the inn. 

**

Jaskier, in his typical fashion, is chatting happily to the innkeeper and charming everyone at the surrounding tables when Geralt sees him. He looks dangerously close to pulling out his lute for an impromptu performance and Geralt decides he needs to put a stop to this before it goes any further and he’s forced to wait even longer for his relief. He stalks across the room and fixes Jaskier with his most intimidating stare, the one he knows just makes the bard horny, and growls.

“Upstairs. Now.” He can’t quite manage his normal eerie stillness, needing to squeeze his thighs together and shift his hips slightly, so some of the effect is lost but Jaskier still gulps and his gaze flicks to Geralt’s lips. The other patrons draw back and exchange concerned glances but Jaskier flashes them a reassuring smile.

“My muse summons and I must answer his call,” he says, with faux regret, “but have patience! I’ll be back to regale you all with the thrilling tale of the White Wolf’s battle against the fearsome kikimore before you know it!”

“He didn’t see it.” Geralt says bluntly, ignoring Jaskier’s outraged squawk as he turns and makes for the stairs. Jaskier’s hurrying behind him giving an impassioned speech about _credibility_ and _proper artistic embellishment_ and how _really_ , Geralt, it’s like you don’t even _care_ but Geralt barely listens, focused instead on the urgent, aching pressure in his bladder. As soon as they’re upstairs and out of sight he allows himself to squirm, pressing his thighs together and shoving his clenched hand between them. He looks up to see Jaskier staring, motionless and dazed, the room key dangling forgotten from his hand. 

“Get _on with it_ , Jaskier.” He’s reaching his limit, half tempted to lift Axii and let himself go right here, clothes and semi-public setting be damned. 

“Er, right yes, ah, of course,” Jaskier snaps out of his haze and turns back to his task. The room he opens the door to is unsurprisingly empty. Jaskier rarely travels with much, especially when he’s travelling alone and can’t talk Geralt into packing his things into Roach’s saddlebags. There’s a chamber pot placed to the side of the unmade bed and Geralt has to force himself to tear his gaze away. It’s empty now but he can smell that Jaskier had used it before he’d left the room this morning and his mind unhelpfully conjures up images of the bard enjoying a nice, long piss. He sighs, short and frustrated, and shifts his weight uncomfortably. Jaskier looks from Geralt to the pot with a sly smile and makes no effort to move it out of sight.

When Jaskier finally kisses him it’s like he’s starving for it. He grips Geralt’s hair in one hand and lets the other rest over his bladder again. This time he does press down ever so slightly and Geralt flinches back to hold himself. He can’t leak, he physically _can’t_ but he feels he’s only seconds away from it. 

“Fuck, you’re so full,” the words come out as a groan. Jaskier’s hard just from seeing him like this, straining against his trousers, and his pupils are blown wide, “I want to fuck you like this, fill you up even more.”

Gods, Geralt’s not sure how much longer he can stand the desperate ache in his bladder but he wants that too, as badly as he wants to piss. Jaskier hadn’t asked a question but he nods anyway and the bard beams like Geralt’s offered him the stars. 

“I have oil,” of course he does, “be a good witcher and take…..all of _that_ off for me?” Jaskier crinkles his nose a little as he gestures to Geralt’s clothes and he realises for the first time that he’s still splattered with mud and remnants of kikmore. It was oddly touching that Jaskier, for all his fine sensibilities, had spent all this time standing this close to him. 

Jaskier would probably prefer it if Geralt made a show of slowly stripping off but he really can’t afford to take his time. He bends as little as possible as he takes off his clothes and Jaskier hums his approval. He slicks his hand in a well-practiced movement and gestures for Geralt to lie down on the bed. Trying as hard as possible not to jostle his bladder any more than necessary, Geralt complies.

Jaskier had been in this bed only a few hours ago and the sheets are still full of his scent. There’s a faint trace of older arousal, nearly overpowered by the fresh lust pouring off the bard now, and a barely noticeable hint of Jaskier’s spend, far too faint for a human to pick up. It’s all Geralt can focus on. 

Jaskier had touched himself right where Geralt was lying now. Had he done it slowly, teasing and taking his time, or had it been hard and fast and frantic? Had he lain here, thinking of Geralt, _missing_ Geralt like he’d said he had, fucking his hand to the thought of having him again? 

Clearly Geralt’s not the only one here who’s desperate. 

Jaskier’s thrown his doublet and boots aside but is otherwise still fully dressed and it only serves to make Geralt more aware of his own nakedness. He’s half hard already from the strangely pleasurable pain of his full bladder and the unabashed hunger of Jaskier’s gaze and he’s desperate, beyond desperate now, to finally relieve himself. He can’t hide any of it from Jaskier. 

“So beautiful,” Jaskier whispers. He pushes Geralt’s thighs apart and the loss of pressure makes the witcher groan. Jaskier runs an oiled finger teasingly over his hole, “can you keep holding it for me?” 

As if Geralt has any _choice_.

His answering noncommittal grunt twists into a long moan as Jaskier slides his finger in, gentle but unrelenting. Geralt fights back the urge to beg him for more, plead with him to hurry, but he can’t help bucking his hips to force the bard’s finger deeper. Fuck, he feels like he’s about to burst. Jaskier usually likes to tease when he has Geralt at his mercy like this but now he acquiesces to the witcher’s urgent movements and speeds up. It’s two fingers, then it’s three but it’s not Jaskier’s cock, not yet, and now Geralt really _is_ gasping out helpless pleas for Jaskier to keep going. 

“Drop the Axii,” Jaskier punctuates the command with a curl of his fingers, “I want you to hold it in just for me.”

It’s far too much to ask of his strained bladder but Geralt’s never quite been able to refuse Jaskier anything so he grits his teeth and undoes the sign. 

Oh _fuck_.

He starts leaking immediately and Jaskier grasps his cock with his free hand. It relieves a little of the pressure and helps him stop his stream but oh _gods_ he needs to _go_. He tenses his whole body to keep himself under control and hears Jaskier’s breath hitch when he clenches around his fingers. He feels completely full and every movement of Jaskier’s long, clever fingers has him sure he’s about to lose control of his bladder completely. A little more leaks out and he shoots Jaskier a helpless, pleading look that he hopes the bard won’t remember to tease him for later. 

“Not yet, my love,” Jaskier says, soothingly. The piss Geralt hadn’t been able to hold in has soaked his hand but he doesn’t seem to mind. Geralt will be able to smell it on him for days. He makes a sound that’s definitely not a whine.

“I wish you could ride me,” Jaskier sounds genuinely wistful, “but it would be a lot of, er, bouncing and I really want you to hold it in until I make you come. Ah, next time. For now you just lie back and look pretty, my lovely witcher, let me take care of the rest.” 

Normally Geralt would put up a fuss at the suggestion he couldn’t handle it, not to mention ‘lie back and look pretty’, but his bladder is so painfully full he really wouldn’t be able to hold it through any rigorous movement. If Jaskier keeps up this torturously slow pace he’s not going to be able to hold it in regardless. He squirms.

“Jaskier. _Hurry_.” 

Whether it’s down to Geralt’s request or his own eagerness Jaskier hurries. 

Geralt’s moan when Jaskier finally pushes in is half relieved and half agonised. Being with Jaskier, whether he’s fucking him or getting fucked by him, always feels so _good_ but right now it’s all just extra pressure that he truly can’t handle. He feels so utterly _full_ , full of piss and full of Jaskier. 

Just like Jaskier wanted him to be. 

Jaskier’s fucking into him hard, not holding anything back. It’s the way that Geralt likes it but it’s jostling his bladder something awful and he’s leaking slightly, despite his hardness. It’s getting on Jaskier, his undershirt and the breeches he’d only unfastened enough to free his cock but that just seems to make the bard more enthusiastic. He’s loud about it, he always is, showing off his vocal range as he screams Geralt’s name and sings his praises. The hand he’s using on Geralt’s cock occasionally slips down to trace over his strained bladder and just that light touch makes Geralt tense and Jaskier moan. At last he pushes down, just putting a hint of extra pressure on Geralt’s bladder and Geralt groans as he loses a long spurt right onto Jaskier. He clenches with everything he has in a desperate effort to keep from truly wetting himself and Jaskier shudders and comes with a frantic cry. His hand falters on Geralt’s cock and he lets go entirely as he pulls out of Geralt in a mess of slick and spend. 

Jaskier’s moving as if he wants to suck Geralt off but the witcher pulls him back with a tug of his hair. The attractive flush on Jaskier’s cheeks and his softly parted lips are nearly enough to make Geralt reconsider but….

“No. On you.” Jaskier nods eagerly and resumes pumping Geralt’s cock, heedless of the small spurts of piss that Geralt can’t hold back soaking through his undershirt. He stinks of Geralt’s piss and soon he’ll smell of his come too and it’s that thought that pushes Geralt over the edge. He comes with a shout, right across Jaskier’s chest where the smell’s going to get into his chest hair and linger, driving Geralt absolutely mad every time he smells it. It’s a devastatingly appealing thought but he barely has a moment to appreciate how thoroughly he’s claimed his bard before he starts leaking again. This time he _knows_ he’s not going to be able to stop it. 

He pulls away from Jaskier with a graceless, urgent jerk and tries frantically to remember where the chamber pot had been when he walked into the room until suddenly it’s right in front of him and Jaskier’s there, kneeling next to the bed and holding the pot and finally telling Geralt to let go. And, with a groan of sheer relief, he does. 

Jaskier shifts slightly so he can rest his head against Geralt’s knee. He’s whispering something gentle but even Geralt’s sharp hearing can’t quite make it out over the thunderous sound of his piss filling the chamber pot. It keeps flowing incessantly and his legs tremble with the relief. He feels utterly weak with it, as if he’d spent hours in a gruelling fight and is only now allowing himself to rest. By the time his stream begins to slow he’s nearly filled the chamber pot and Jaskier’s turned his head to stare adoringly up at him. 

“You did so well, my love.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that, never really knows what to say when Jaskier praises him, so he just pulls back from the edge of the bed and lets himself collapse backwards, enjoying the blissful feeling of emptiness. 

Jaskier places the chamber pot carefully back on the floor and tucks himself against Geralt’s side. He doesn’t bother to remove his undershirt or clean off any of Geralt’s piss and the witcher luxuriates in the smell of it mingling with Jaskier’s natural scent. 

He’s getting a little blatant with his sniffing but Jaskier just laughs, quiet and fond, and shifts his head so Geralt has better access to his neck. He smells _perfect_ , happy and sated and of _Geralt_. He smells like Geralt owns him and it’s soothing something harsh and primal in the back of the witcher’s mind. They should move. Geralt still has a kikimore contract to finish and, delicious as he smells, Jaskier’s likely feeling uncomfortable, covered in Geralt’s piss and come. At the very least they should empty the chamber pot lying by the bed. Geralt takes a last long inhale of Jaskier’s scent and makes to get up. Jaskier sighs in protest and shifts so he’s lying on top of him.

“Geralt it’s been two whole months since I’ve had you like this. You _will_ stay here and let me hold you a little longer or I swear to Melitele you will not touch my cock again until summer.” 

It’s the definition of an empty threat, not least because Geralt’s reasonably confident he could have Jaskier begging for his touch within an hour if he really wanted to, but the way Jaskier’s lying now has the nape of his neck pressed close to Geralt’s nose so he can sniff him as much as he likes. Jaskier really does smell good like this and the weight of his body is reassuring after the time apart.

Geralt decides his contract can keep waiting, just a little bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think, is it _really_ such a sure thing that Jaskier would be the one begging for Geralt first? I think he might be a little overconfident there. 
> 
> Hope you liked it!! Tune in next time for Axii-induced desperation trigger words and, as always, feel free to come and hang out with me on tumblr at diuretic-dandelions!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, please ignore me increasing the chapter count I had _plans_! and they went _wrong_!
> 
> This is basically chapter three part one because chapter three was turning into a horrifyingly long monstrosity and I had to slice it up for everyone's good. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!!
> 
> Content warning for a bit of verbal humiliation which is very, very consensual and very much enjoyed by all parties.

“Bard?”

“No, no, _no_ ,” Jaskier’s pacing restlessly, songbook held loosely in one hand while he gesticulates theatrically with the other, “that won’t work at _all_. _Everyone_ calls me bard, _you_ called me bard for _months_ after we started travelling together, it was like you didn’t even know my name!” Jaskier’s face stills in horror and he stops pacing. He turns to Geralt with an accusatory glare, “Geralt, answer me honestly, when exactly did you learn my name?” 

Geralt cuts off Jaskier’s dangerous line of questioning with a noncommittal grunt and quickly moves on to his next option.

“Mutant?” 

Jaskier’s eyes grow less playful and his face darkens.

“If someone intends to use _that word_ tonight I’d rather deal with them without the distraction.” 

It’s amusingly touching how ready and willing Jaskier always seems to be to defend Geralt’s honour. It’s rather like watching a woodlark try to shield a forktail, if said woodlark had a penchant for bar fights and an occasional, worrying tendency to brandish knives at people. 

Maybe he should leave the metaphors to the poet. 

None of this is getting them any closer to choosing the right word and Jaskier’s expected to be performing downstairs any minute. If they want to do this tonight they have to pick something, and quickly. Jaskier’s thrown himself back across the bed, hand flung melodramatically over his face, and appears to have given up entirely. Geralt casts his eyes around the room in a last-ditch effort for inspiration. There’s not much. Either of their names would be said too quickly and frequently, ‘witcher’ would share the same problem. A rarer word would be too likely not to be said at all. Geralt could always rig the game and say it himself but unexpectedness is too much of an appealing element of this for both of them. He keeps looking. Maybe……

“Lute?”

Jaskier makes an intrigued noise and sits up to leaf through his songbook. His tongue pokes out enticingly as he pours over his lyrics and Geralt tracks the movement without quite intending to. He’s tempted to knock the book from Jaskier’s hands and take him right there on the bed he’s so conveniently positioned on but the thought of Jaskier’s inevitable disappointment at missing the chance to both perform and try a new game in one night holds him back. He looks away when Jaskier slowly runs his tongue across his lips in concentration. 

“I couldn’t sing _Toss a Coin_ …..” he absently taps his quill against his chin, “not the original version at least…..was that your plan all along, you _scoundrel_?” he sounds delightedly scandalised and not at all offended so Geralt doesn’t bother to reassure him, “lute, lute, lute….it could work!”

“Once I’ve done this I won’t be able to undo it from across the room. If you need it undone you’ll have to manage it yourself until you can get to me,” he probably _could_ undo it from across the room, if he really needed to, and would certainly try if the situation started to get truly out of control but he enjoys Jaskier’s helpless shiver at the thought, “are you ready?” 

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes,” Jaskier practically crawls onto Geralt’s lap in his enthusiasm, “the real question here is are _you_ going to be able to restrain yourself when it happens? You do get so terribly _excited_ sometimes, Geralt.”

Geralt’s condescending “hmm” would probably have carried more weight if he could have kept his gaze from Jaskier’s lips but he presses on anyway, pushing the bard back so he has room to form the sign. 

“When someone says the word ‘lute’ to you tonight, you will become desperate to piss.” 

Jaskier blinks away the post-Axii fogginess and grins wickedly at Geralt.

“Well, my most beloved witcher,” he stands and presents his arm to Geralt in a move so practiced Geralt suspects someone went to great pains to teach it to him as a child, “shall we greet our adoring public?” 

**

They’ve barely made it downstairs before someone cries out to announce the bard has arrived and Jaskier turns his best I-told-you-so look on Geralt. He _knew_ that would have been a terrible choice, he’d hardly have made a good impression on his audience if he’d had to rush for the privy _already_ and he doubts he could make it through a whole performance as desperate as he would have been.

The real thrill comes from not knowing when, or even _if_ someone’s going to use the word. Theoretically it could be at any moment but Jaskier imagines it will be later, after he’s performed, when he’s mingling with the crowd. He can hardly wait, his normal pre-performance excitement amplified tenfold. 

With a quick glance to confirm that Geralt is properly positioned at his broody back corner table Jaskier flashes a broad smile to his gathered audience and starts to sing.

**

The performance passes without incident, just as they’d expected it to, but Geralt still doesn’t look away from Jaskier once. Partially it’s to discourage any other patrons from speaking up and using potentially _distracting_ words. People are generally much less willing to talk over the music if they think an angry-looking witcher will take offence to it. 

But it’s also just……nice, watching Jaskier in his element like this. 

He ends his last song with a deep bow and retrieves his lute case, his movements casual and unhurried. He’s clearly in no rush to return upstairs or join Geralt at his table and others in the tavern pick up on it quickly, gathering around him to talk. It’s one of Jaskier’s subtler talents, to transition so seamlessly from a famous troubadour who commands the attention of a room to a good-natured and approachable part of the crowd, and Geralt’s never been sure if it’s a skill taught to all bards or simply an inherent part of Jaskier’s personality. Either way it’s not long before Jaskier is talking happily with a group of fans while Geralt watches, listening closely to every word.  
It doesn’t take long.

“….and it’s been such a long time since I’ve heard a lute…” Geralt tunes out the woman’s voice the second he hears the word and focuses every one of his sharp senses on Jaskier.

He’s stiffened and his thighs are pressed a little closer together than normal for his typical open, conversational stance but it’s his eyes, wide and desperate, that give him away, though probably only to Geralt. His eyes and his scent. It’s the smell that normally wafts from Jaskier as he’s making a frantic rush for the nearest privy, or _begging_ Geralt to let him pee and it makes Geralt shift in his chair. He watches the movement of Jaskier’s throat as he swallows nervously, watches him subtly shift on the spot as he talks and laughs as if nothing’s wrong. 

The first time they’d tried this, camped out deep in the woods, he’d said the word and Jaskier had wet himself on the spot. He’d been embarrassed by it, even as he’d tried to laugh it off, and insisted they keep trying in private until he could handle his desperation more subtly.

Those nights, watching Jaskier squirm and whine and desperately clutch himself without being allowed to touch him until he’d pissed, had proved to be just as much an exercise in self-control for Geralt. 

Jaskier’s not holding himself now, though Geralt suspects he’d like to, and his speech is only a little higher and faster than normal. If Geralt didn’t know his tells so well, if he couldn’t smell the urgency emanating from Jaskier he doubts he’d even realise how desperately he needed to relieve himself and it adds even more of a thrill to the sight, knowing they’re the only two in the room who know just how uncomfortable Jaskier is. 

Across the room Jaskier twists one leg behind the other and scuffs the toe of his boot against the floor. 

**

Jaskier might be in some trouble. 

Even knowing what to expect the sheer urgency that strikes him when he hears the word is hard to ignore. Every instinct he has tells him to abandon any attempt at polite conversation and sprint for the privy. At the very least he wants to cross his legs and hold himself to help stave off the urge but he can’t. Not here. He can’t manage to keep completely still, however, and he hopes that the way he shifts his weight back and forth passes for enthusiastic energy rather than urgency. In hindsight he’s not really sure what he’d planned to actually _do_ when the word was said, he’d only considered how good it would feel to be so desperate and powerless with Geralt’s eyes on him. It does feel good, impossibly good, but he needs to find a way to excuse himself quickly if he doesn’t want to embarrass himself mid-conversation. 

Fuck, he _really_ needs to pee. 

He listens for a conversational opening where he can politely excuse himself for an appropriately vague reason and…..

There isn’t one.

The woman who’d triggered his little _problem_ is now recounting a long personal anecdote that spans most of Novigrad and has so far included three separate but equally absurdly high stake Gwent games. It’s a good story and she’s telling it well, Jaskier would probably appreciate it greatly on any other occasion.

But not _now_. 

He crosses and recrosses his legs as subtly as he can, gasping and laughing at the appropriate moments. A bard who walks away from a fan who’s telling him a story is not a bard who keeps many fans. Then again, a bard who pisses himself in front of his fans might keep even fewer. He fidgets a little more and turns his pleading gaze to Geralt’s table.

Geralt isn’t there.

Geralt _is_ right behind him and he’s startled enough that he has to squeeze his thighs together to prevent any leaks. He’s so focused on keeping his bladder under control that he’s only vaguely listening as Geralt makes their excuses, something about a long day on the road and Jaskier needing to rest so he can perform again tomorrow. His hero, his beloved, valiant, _beautiful_ witcher. He fakes a long yawn. 

The group seem to accept the excuse, or at the very least they’re all eager to hear the resolution of the story, and bid their various farewells smiling. Jaskier lets Geralt lead him quickly towards the exit as he expresses his loud regrets at having to leave so early and tries to keep it all in, just for a little bit longer.

**

As soon as they’re outside Jaskier frantically shoves his lute into Geralt’s arms and hurries around the corner of the tavern, making for the deserted alley. It reminds Geralt of the first time the bard had asked him to use Axii on him, before either of them had truly realised how much they’d both enjoy it. Geralt feels oddly nostalgic. Perhaps Jaskier would like to play with that particular use of Axii again soon. 

“Thank _Melitele_ , I thought she’d _never_ get tired,” Jaskier’s clutching himself hard through his pants and taking small, fast steps. He looks absolutely _desperate_ , “really Geralt, you can’t possibly imagine what it’s like trying to get out of a conversation with someone who simply will _not_ stop talking.” 

Geralt stares pointedly at him, raising a meaningful eyebrow and Jaskier stutters in outrage, momentarily taking his hand from his crotch so he can point an angry finger at Geralt.

“ _Well_ I _never_ \- I can _assure_ you tha- oh _fuck_ ," he shoves both hands back between his legs and dances on the spot, eyes squeezed shut in concentration before he stills, looking back at Geralt with a blush and a sheepish smile, “…leaked a little.”

As if that’s a neutral statement, as if it doesn’t make Geralt want to throw him against the alley wall and fuck him until he loses the rest. Instead he grips Jaskier’s wrist and holds him in place, long enough for his fidgeting to become distinctly urgent.

 _I like the idea of you denying me_ , Jaskier had said when they’d started this all, so long ago. He likes it now, still. Geralt can smell it on him. 

“Geralt…” there’s a note of genuine panic mixing with the arousal in his voice now and he’s tugging helplessly against Geralt’s hold, “ _please_?” 

A small, dark part of Geralt wants to ignore him. He imagines Jaskier vulnerable, only a few steps away from his relief, trying harder and harder to escape Geralt’s grasp as he fights a losing battle against his own bladder. He’s so desperate it wouldn’t be long until he was standing, humiliated, in a puddle of his own making. Everyone inside the tavern had seen him leave, if he came back wet they’d inevitably notice and surely they’d be able to put together that he’d lost control mere moments before he could relieve himself properly. They’d realise that he’d been talking and laughing with them while he was right on the verge of wetting himself. What would they think of him then?

More to the point, what would _Jaskier_ think of an audience like that?

Geralt could never do it to him. Jaskier’s so preoccupied with his image and reputation, he can’t expose him to potential ridicule like that and there’s no possible way he could sneak a piss-drenched bard back through the crowded tavern unnoticed. He counts to ten slowly in his head, letting himself appreciate the sight of Jaskier squirming and desperate just a little longer, before he lets him go. 

Jaskier turns to the wall faster than Geralt’s ever seen him move, fidgeting and swearing under his breath as he fumbles to undo the fastenings of his trousers with shaking hands. He’s leaking again, only in small drops, but the smell of his urine sends heat coursing through Geralt. He watches hungrily as Jaskier finally manages to get his cock out, losing another spurt in the cold night air, and clenches his fists against the intense rush of arousal that hits him when Jaskier finally lets go with a relieved moan. Geralt _can_ restrain himself, no matter what Jaskier might think, so he allows the bard a few moments to get comfortably positioned before he presses up behind him, one hand holding his hip the other resting over his bladder. He breathes in the relived satisfaction in his scent, so similar to how he smells after he’s come.

“Hello,” Jaskier turns his head to bump his nose against Geralt’s. Careful to keep his stream aimed steadily at the wall he shifts his hips back so the swell of his rear presses into Geralt’s rapidly hardening cock, “ _oho_ , hello to you _too_!” Geralt sighs internally. Being attracted to Jaskier is such a trying ordeal sometimes. 

Half of him wants to offer praise. Jaskier really had handled himself admirably, any onlooker who’d noticed his fidgeting and guessed he’d needed the privy likely still wouldn’t have suspected the true extent of his desperation and he’d managed to hold on through the additional, unexpected delay from Geralt. He’s getting rather good at this. Still, he knows what Jaskier wants in this moment and it’s not praise. He can never quite hide how much he likes it when Geralt talks down to him during this game and, with his mind still full of visions of Jaskier, shamefaced and wet as he tries to avoid the stares of tavern patrons, it’s not as hard as normal to find the words.

“You were an embarrassment.”

Pressed this close he feels rather than sees the shiver that goes through Jaskier at his words.

“Was I?” Despite his arousal Jaskier’s voice is compellingly unaffected. Geralt wants to make him whimper. 

“You must have felt ashamed, squirming around so childishly. You’re _nobility_ , Jaskier. I would have expected you to be capable of keeping your composure.” 

Jaskier’s breath hitches and his stream thins. For a moment Geralt thinks it might stop altogether until Jaskier tenses and _pushes_ , making an uncomfortable sound low in his throat.

“Don’t make me hard before I’m finished, Geralt,” it’s a strange tone, both tease and plea simultaneously, and it goes right to Geralt’s cock. 

“You nearly wet yourself in there, didn’t you,” it’s not a question. Jaskier whines and shifts against Geralt. “You got lucky. People talk and news spreads. Who’d want to listen to a bard’s music when they know he can’t even hold his piss?” 

Now Jaskier _is_ whimpering, needy and frantic. 

“I could make you hold it again right now,” he rests his hand over Jaskier’s wrist, feels his pulse pick up at the thought, “I could fill you up again and again, as many times as I wanted, and what could you do to stop me?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jaskier whispers weakly. Geralt would be worried he’d pushed it too far if he couldn’t smell Jaskier’s arousal and see his cock twitching in interest, even as he desperately tries to force out the last of his piss. 

“Next time.” He says it right into Jaskier’s ear and leaves it up to the bard to decide if it’s a promise or a threat. Jaskier finally finishes his piss with a long groan of satisfaction and lets himself fall heavily back against Geralt. 

“ _What_ an evening!” He sounds immensely satisfied. Of course he does, Geralt knows the pleasure of relieving oneself after a long wait very well and there’s something about a post-Axii piss that’s…. different. More intense. Jaskier must feel _incredible_ right now and he hasn’t even come yet. Geralt’s arousal at the thought is interrupted by a small, strange stab of envy that he decides to ignore. Jaskier, warm and eager in his arms, provides a welcome distraction. 

“You’re an awful tease and I demand recompense. You must take me upstairs and ravish me this second, I’ll accept nothing less.” 

Geralt listens hard for a moment but there’s no sound from the tavern that indicates anyone’s likely to leave for the moment, or that they’re concerned enough about Jaskier’s absence to come looking for him. He tightens his grip on the bard.

“How about I fuck you right here instead?”

“Turns out teasing can be forgiven a lot more easily than I remembered,” Jaskier says, grinding himself back against Geralt, his grin evident in his voice “still, you’d best get on with it in case I change my mind.”

Geralt gets on with it.

**

Jaskier manages to fix his hair and rearrange his doublet so the marks Geralt left on his neck and chest aren’t so visible but he can’t do much about his general dishevelment, _or_ the happy, sappy grin he always seem to wear for a while after he’s made Geralt come. Geralt tries to position himself between Jaskier and any curious onlookers as they hurry back through the tavern and upstairs to their room.

Once they’re alone Jaskier turns to Geralt with a happy smile that quickly transitions into a look of panic.

“Shit, did you remember to bring my lu- er, my _instrument_?” Jaskier sighs in relief when Geralt lifts the lute case in acknowledgment.

“You mean your-“ he’s cut off when Jaskier slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Do _not_ Geralt, I mean it-“ Geralt licks his palm and Jaskier jerks it away, “-don’t be _disgusting_!” Geralt gives him a long, unimpressed look. 

“Jaskier I’ve had your cock in my mouth.”

“That makes it _worse_!” Jaskier wipes his hand on Geralt’s shirt and seems to consider justice done, “really though Geralt, please don’t say _that word_ again right now, there’s only so much punishment I can put my poor body through in one evening.”

He’s not wrong and Geralt has something of a vested interest in keeping Jaskier’s body in proper working order. He undoes the Axii with a precise hand movement and Jaskier smiles at him. It’s a small, soft smile that makes his eyes crinkle, far removed from his flashy showman’s grin, and Geralt finds he can’t look at it for long before something heavy claws at his throat and he has to turn his gaze away. Jaskier understands like he always does, without offence or need of explanation, and busies himself meticulously rearranging his lute within its case, his scent warm and happy. 

“You weren’t….” Geralt isn’t really sure he wants to finish the sentence but Jaskier’s looking expectant now and he doesn’t have much choice, “…embarrassing. Not really. You looked good. And you did a good job.” 

Jaskier _beams_.

“I _know_! And there you were, thinking I was just a fragile little human.” Geralt’s reasonably sure he’s never thought of Jaskier as ‘fragile’ before. “I could probably outlast _you_ at this point!”

Jaskier’s clearly very proud of himself and it would be unkind of Geralt to scoff at him, so he only does it quietly. Jaskier goes oddly still and Geralt braces himself for the inevitable tirade.

It doesn’t come.

Instead Jaskier turns to him with the contemplative stare and slowly growing grin that normally precedes his more daring sexual suggestions. Geralt catches himself leaning forward slightly in anticipation without entirely meaning to.

“Now, my lovely witcher,” Jaskier tilts his head in a perfect display of faux innocence, “ _that_ sounds like a challenge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ~wonder~ what they're going to get up to in the next chapter ~~
> 
> Hope you liked it! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holding contest time ;)

Geralt makes it halfway through the next morning’s breakfast in peace and quiet before Jaskier seats himself at the table, stealing some bread and cheese directly off of Geralt’s plate and loudly declaring that, if there is to be a contest, there are _stakes_ and _rewards_ to be decided. 

In all honesty, Geralt hadn’t really been expecting him to bring it up again, even if he’d remembered hinting at it in the first place. Jaskier likes to think out loud, half his speech is made up of lyrics that never make it into songs and ideas he never really follows through on and Geralt had expected this to be one of them. 

Apparently he was wrong. 

“We’ll use the same word, I’ll do you and you’ll do me.” Clearly worried his wording might have been too subtle Jaskier pauses and waggles his eyebrows meaningfully. Geralt grunts. “And whoever _goes_ first loses.”

It’s ridiculous. He doesn’t have anything to prove to Jaskier and the idea of dealing with an uncomfortably full bladder while he watches Jaskier squirm and blush as he tries to outlast him is…..

Okay, it’s incredibly appealing, now that he thinks about it. Fuck. 

“Hmm. What will I get when I win, then?” 

“I was thinking unrestricted access to my virile, willing body.” Jaskier stretches languidly back in his seat, giving Geralt a better look at said body. Geralt snorts.

“I already have that.” 

Jaskier’s offended gasp draws a few looks from the neighbouring tables. 

“If you’re implying that I’m _easy_ , witcher, then you should know-“

Geralt sighs. “Want to finish this conversation after we fuck?” 

“Well, of course! I’ll just-“ Jaskier’s halfway out of his seat before he takes in Geralt’s quirked eyebrow and amused half-smile and slowly lowers himself back down with a glare. “That was _unnecessary_ , Geralt.” 

“If I win,” Geralt ignores Jaskier’s sulky pout, “you listen to me. When I tell you to stay back, or wait at the campsite or _stop talking_ you do it without argument. For six-“ Jaskier’s eyes widen in horror and he makes to protest. Geralt quickly amends himself, “ _two_ months.” 

Suitably appeased Jaskier hums in consideration. 

“Would that include while we’re…” he makes a few tremendously rude hand gestures and Geralt’s thoughts turn to Jaskier, turned on and frustrated, forced to wait to touch himself or Geralt until he has permission. Would Jaskier find he likes being denied in that way too? Geralt nods. 

“Kinky,” Jaskier says, approvingly, “okay, if you win I’ll indulge your little obedience fetish. _Only_ for those two months, mind, you’d get horribly bored otherwise. And when _I_ win?” 

Geralt has an idea. One that will guarantee Jaskier pushes himself to the very limit of his capacity and Geralt gets to see him _truly_ desperate.

“ _If_ you win,” Geralt takes a deep breath, “you can write the song.”

“You mean about _this_?” Jaskier wrinkles his nose. “Geralt, I’m not convinced this is the sort of story that’s going to appeal much to people,” he pauses and tilts his head in thought, “although…. I suppose if I found the right audience to perform it for….”

Geralt does _not_ like where this is going.

“Not about this. The…..other one.”

Jaskier’s confusion is short lived and his eyes quickly widen in joyful understanding. 

“You mean the time with the-“

“Yes.” Geralt cuts him off quickly. Fuck, he’s regretting this already. 

“But you said-“

“I know.”

“From what I recall you threatened to _geld_ me if I wrote so much as a single stanza,” Jaskier says, jovially, “though, of course, that was _before_ we discovered you enjoy my cock just as much as I do. See if I ever believe _that_ particular threat again.”

“There’s still time. And I’ve never used the word stanza.”

“More’s the pity, it sounds rather sexy when you say it.” Jaskier makes a long show of considering Geralt’s offer. He’s getting the greater concession, really. Geralt should have pushed harder for six months. “You drive a hard bargain, my dear, but I think I can accept your terms. Back here this evening then?” 

Their table is positioned right near the small back exit and gives a good view of the rest of the tavern while offering a reasonable degree of privacy if anything…. _embarrassing_ happens to either of them. It’s strangely ideal for what they have planned. Geralt nods his consent.

“What word-“

“Stanza.” Jaskier interjects with an innocent smile. Geralt sighs. The word works as well as any.

“Fine. Stanza then.” He ignores Jaskier’s quiet cheer. “I’m going to cast the sign now, so be careful who you talk to.”

Jaskier’s grin is all mischief and poorly concealed excitement.

“Oh Geralt,” he pauses to take another bite of Geralt’s breakfast, “I don’t think _I’m_ the one who needs to be careful at all.”

**

Jaskier doesn’t have anything to worry about.

Geralt’s a remarkably talented and unfairly good looking man who’s been forced to deal with far more pain than he deserves and Jaskier’s sure that’s why he thinks this will be easy. But putting up with the pain of an injury and putting up with the discomfort of a full bladder aren’t the same thing and Jaskier suspects Geralt lacks experience with the latter. 

Jaskier’s willing to bet that Geralt’s admittedly _challenging_ life has never required him to grit his teeth through the last few minutes of a lengthy musical performance until he could excuse himself to the privy _or_ cross his legs through one of Oxenfurt’s notoriously long and difficult final exams. Geralt’s childhood had probably not included endless dinner parties for visiting nobility and being asked to _sit back down_ , Julian, you’re making a _scene_ when he tried to step out to relieve himself. Certainly Geralt had never had the uniquely resilience enhancing experience of being an eighteen year old, freshly minted bard with a nervous bladder who’d been somewhat terrified his new travelling companion would abandon him in the wilderness if he stopped for a break too many times and so made a habit of holding it in a _little_ longer than was strictly comfortable.

……not that Jaskier would know anything about that _either_. 

Except, oh fuck, Geralt can _smell_ when he needs to go and so he must have _known_ every single time and maybe Jaskier should just walk right out of town and find a hole somewhere to crawl into and…..

The _point_ here is that Geralt hardly ever needs to go by virtue of his intimidating witcher bladder but he _still_ pees before he goes on a hunt and, often, as soon as he gets back from one. Gods, Jaskier’s even seen him piss himself mid-battle before, when his bladder gets too distracting. He’s simply not used to functioning while needing to pee because he hardly ever has to and he’s not going to manage it now. He’ll remember just how much he dislikes being distracted by his body mere moments after they’ve begun and immediately find some reason to end the game as quickly as possible. 

And _that’s_ why Jaskier’s going to win. 

**

Geralt doesn’t have anything to worry about.

Jaskier’s stronger than he looks and surprisingly resourceful but he also has a habit of picking battles he can’t possibly win and suggesting things before he’s thought the consequences through. Maybe he handles life on the Path better than most would expect a human to but he’s still, ultimately, a self-indulgent hedonist. He likes fancy clothes and expensive wine, he likes writing pretty songs and being praised for them at parties. He likes being _cuddled_ after sex, for fuck’s sake. 

He doesn’t know anything about having to bear a day’s ride with a slow-to-heal wound or re-breaking a bone that he hadn’t been able to set properly the first time. He doesn’t know about enduring constant, low-level pain like a witcher has to. He’s certainly never experienced the sheer, desperate _urgency_ to piss that comes with taking witcher potions and had to go on fighting through it.

It won’t help Jaskier that he gets nervous about it either. It had taken nearly four months of travelling together before Jaskier started going as often as was comfortable, though Geralt had decided not to comment at the time, and he can still get oddly shy sometimes about admitting he needs to stop, unless they’re playing one of their games. He gets especially anxious when he’s starting to get desperate in public and can’t go immediately, his eyes darting about frantically while his pulse begins to race. It only makes the urge worse for him and Geralt’s never understood just why he gets so bothered by it all. 

Regardless they’ll be competing seated inside the tavern and Jaskier will twitch and squirm and worry what people might think until he’s driven himself completely frantic with desperation in a matter of minutes. There’s no chance he’ll be able to stand the discomfort for long after that. 

And _that’s_ why Geralt’s going to win. 

**

When they say the word Geralt’s hit with such an intense rush of _need_ that he nearly admits defeat immediately. He’d known it would be _bad_ , of course, but this is….it’s…..

It’s overwhelming and frantic, all he can think about is how badly he wants to go and this was _stupid_ , what if they’re attacked? He couldn’t possibly defend himself or Jaskier in this state, he should let go, right now, so he can be ready if anything happens and….

He takes a long, deep breath and lets the initial urgency settle into a sharp, ceaseless ache. It’s bad, desperately bad, and he’s hoping fiercely that Jaskier gives up quickly but at least he doesn’t feel quite as ready to break down doors in a frantic rush to the privy. Across the table Jaskier, more used to the sensation of Axii-induced desperation is smiling smugly at him. 

“Not so easy then?”

“Shut up.” Geralt can manage this, he _can_ but he can’t focus properly if Jaskier won’t keep quiet. 

Barely a minute’s passed before Jaskier starts talking again. 

“Can you hear the kitchens from here? Can you hear them pouring out drinks and making…” he pauses to think, “….soup?”

Geralt _can_ hear a little more than he’d like from the kitchens although, so far, no one’s making soup. He tries to refocus his senses so he’s not concentrating so hard on the sound of pouring water and ale. Jaskier looks at him knowingly.

“Lots of free flowing liquid in kitchens. I’m certainly glad _I_ can’t hear it, hard not to think about your bladder when you’re listening to that, right Geralt?” Geralt doesn’t offer a response and Jaskier doesn’t wait for one. “Almost as bad as listening to other people piss when you have to hold it. How about that, then? Can you hear people using the privies from here? Anyone upstairs making use of their chamber pot?” 

It takes every bit of Geralt’s mental strength to keep him from listening for it. He wonders, despairingly, how Jaskier’s able to talk about such things without picturing them himself. Then again, Jaskier’s never struggled to speak without thinking. 

“Do you remember when I ran into you after that kikimore contract? How badly you needed to go then? How _good_ it felt when you finally let it all out?” 

Yes. Geralt remembers. He clenches his fists and tries not to think too hard about how relieved and light he’d felt, emptying his bladder after waiting for so long. 

“If memory serves rather a lot of it ended up on _me_ ,” Jaskier’s examining stains on the wood of the table as if he’s not at all interested in the effect his words are having on Geralt, “and I think you quite liked that.”

The hot rush of arousal he feels remembering how good Jaskier had looked and smelt covered in his piss is a pleasant distraction from his aching bladder but it’s still not _enough_. He shifts his thighs where they’re pressed tightly together and hopes Jaskier doesn’t notice. 

“Just say the words,” accustomed to Geralt’s sharp hearing Jaskier lowers his voice to a sultry whisper without leaning closer, “if you admit you need to go right now, I’ll let you do it on me.” 

_Fuck_.

“Think about it Geralt. You’ll feel so much better once you’ve relieved yourself _and_ you’ll get to mark your territory,” his voice drops even lower, intimate despite the background chatter of the tavern, “you’ll smell it on me for days. Any other witcher, anyone with a strong enough sense of smell will too. They’ll all know I’m _yours_.” 

It’s a tempting offer. Suspiciously tempting. 

Jaskier looks calm but he smells frantic and Geralt can hear the sound of leather on leather where his boots are rubbing together as he fidgets, he can see the minor movements of his upper body when he bounces his crossed legs under the table. One of Jaskier’s hands is resting casually on the table but Geralt’s seen him in urgent need of a pee often enough to know without doubt that the other will be fisted into his crotch between his tightly squeezed thighs. He’s much more desperate than he’s letting on and this offer only makes it more obvious to Geralt that Jaskier’s genuinely worried he can’t wait much longer. 

“Nice try,” he says and watches Jaskier’s eyes briefly widen in dismay before he gets himself back under control.

“Your loss,” Jaskier says, tersely, and Geralt can’t pretend he doesn’t enjoy the noticeable tension creasing the bard’s brow and the new rush of anxiety that’s entered his scent. 

**

Well _shit_.

Jaskier had really been hoping that one would work. Surely a man who’d spent _hours_ smiling to himself over the way his piss smelled on his partner could have been expected to jump at the chance to soak him in it properly? By all rights Geralt should have immediately gone mad with lust, taken Jaskier somewhere far away from prying eyes to thoroughly mark him up and then Jaskier, secure in the knowledge that he’d _won_ could have taken his own desperately needed pee and-

Fuck, if he doesn’t stop thinking about how good it will feel when he finally gets to go he’s going to embarrass himself. He shifts in his seat and recrosses his legs, tapping his fingers anxiously against his thigh. He tries to distract himself by appreciating how good Geralt looks, trying to hide his own desperation. He’s tense, even more so than usual, and his hands are clenched and white knuckled. More than that, he’s _fidgeting_. Not much, he’s still not moving as much as a typical human would be, seated in one of the uncomfortable tavern chairs, but he _is_ moving, shifting his weight and repositioning himself constantly. One of his feet brushes against Jaskier’s under the table as he moves and the bard only barely resists the urge to squeak. It’s just so…..uncharacteristic and it’s making Jaskier want to fidget for an entirely different reason. Geralt’s normally so still, so controlled and here he is squirming uncomfortably in his seat because he needs to go so _badly_. 

Unfortunately Jaskier’s not much better off and he’d really appreciate it if Geralt could hurry up and lose so he can take care of his own aching bladder. He casts his eyes nervously around the room and bites his lower lip as he wonders what he could possibly say to encourage Geralt to give in when his filthy promise had proved ineffective. A cheerful looking man at a nearby table knocks a hand against his overfull tankard as he laughs and ale spills onto the table with a torturous splash. Jaskier flinches and looks away, jamming his hand further into his crotch with a whimper. 

They can’t stay in here. Jaskier needs to allow himself far more movement if he’s going to hold it in and he has a reputation to maintain. Geralt does too, technically, though he rarely concerns himself with it. The table they’re seated at can only offer so much privacy and Jaskier’s already holding himself more blatantly than he’d prefer to be in a public setting. It’s making him tense and anxious, needing to go this badly when there are people around to _see_ , and that anxiety is making him even more conscious of his desperation. He looks back up just in time to see the barmaid refilling the spilled mug of ale and he feels so dangerously close to leaking that, for a moment, he truly considers accepting the loss and begging Geralt to help him outside before he loses it. It’s only when he turns back to Geralt and takes in his tightly closed eyes and the slow breaths he’s taking through his nose that he realises his witcher’s not got long left either. If Jaskier can get them away from prying eyes, into the back alley they’d visited the last time, he can hold himself properly, not to mention Geralt’s keen nose will be tormented by the lingering smell of other people’s relief. Jaskier might still have a chance. 

“Geralt…” the witcher’s eyes open and Jaskier _knows_ he’s not imaging the raw, desperate hope he’s seeing there, “let’s go outside.”

“Ready to give up?” Jaskier wonders if Geralt realises just how close he sounds to pleading. Normally Jaskier hates to disappoint his witcher but he feels an eager thrill of anticipation at the ever so brief flash of panic in Geralt’s eyes when he shakes his head.

“Not at all!” The bravado in his voice sounds horribly forced, even to him. “You, on the other hand, look like you’re struggling and I’m not sure even one of _my_ ballads will be able to fix your reputation if you have an accident in front of all these people.” He stands as he talks, hoping he can be away from the table before Geralt takes offence to his comment. Geralt can be awfully physical when he’s irritated and, while Jaskier normally enjoys it immensely, he _really_ couldn’t keep holding it through any manhandling right now. It turns out to be hard enough just holding it in as he stands up and he doesn’t quite manage to bite back a yelp when the change in position results in a frantic stab of sheer urgency.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s looking at him with enough genuine concern to make Jaskier feel even more embarrassed and he can feel his face heat as Geralt determines the cause of his outburst and his worry changes to amusement. “Hm. Maybe it’s not my reputation you should be worried about.” 

It’s hard to make a dignified exit that conveys an appropriate amount of righteous indignation with his jaw clenched and his thighs pressed together but Jaskier tries his best.

**

Geralt’s glad that Jaskier left in such a dramatic huff because he doesn’t fare much better as he stands. He grips the edge of the table with a pained grunt and tries to stave off the urge to cross his legs and hold himself. He makes it through the back door, only to be met with the sight of Jaskier hopping from foot to foot, bending his knees and squeezing his thighs together. Geralt isn't sure if he's more turned on by Jaskier's blatant desperation or frustrated at how it draws his attention back to his own need. 

Geralt could probably hold it for longer if Jaskier wasn’t being so fucking _obvious_ about it all. It’s impossible to distract himself from how full his bladder is, how desperately he needs to empty it, with Jaskier dancing about and smelling like he’s ready to burst. Helpless to resist any longer he crosses his legs tightly and squeezes his crotch. Jaskier looks up just in time to see it. 

“Geralt! Given that we’re both in rather, ah…” he shifts his weight and scuffs his boots, “… _dire_ straits I have a proposition for you. I don’t think anyone could say that we haven’t both performed admirably and-“

“Get to the fucking _point_ Jaskier.” It comes out even snappier than Geralt had intended. _Fuck_ he needs to piss.

“All I’m saying,” Jaskier’s panting the words, both hands gripping his crotch and his legs twisted together, “is that if we _both_ go at the same time then no one really won but, more importantly, no one really lost either.” 

It certainly feels like a loss but Geralt’s past the point of caring. He can’t keep it in a minute longer and he grunts his agreement. In a matter of seconds he’s freed his cock and turned to the wall, finally giving himself permission to let go.

His stream starts immediately, hard and frantic against the wall and he hears Jaskier wail in despair where he’s stood next to Geralt, still fumbling with his fastenings. 

“No- wait, fuck, _bollocks_ , not _yet_ -“ 

Jaskier hasn’t quite made it, Geralt notices with a hot shock of arousal. He’s lost a few long spurts into his breeches by the time he manages to get his leaking cock out and aim for the wall.

Geralt’s going to take great joy in touching him through those damp trousers later.

It’s intimate, standing close enough to feel Jaskier’s body heat while they both relieve themselves, the hiss of their urine occasionally interrupted by a relieved moan or whimper. Geralt can’t help but enjoy the way their scents mix in the air. The orgasmic feeling of his own relief is only enhanced by the tiny noises of satisfaction Jaskier’s making under his breath as he lets go.

“Just so you know,” Jaskier presses a kiss against Geralt’s cheek, almost absurdly chaste under the circumstances, “I won’t go so easy on you next time.”

Geralt rather likes the thought of a _next time_. 

By the time Jaskier’s finished his lengthy pee Geralt’s still going, his stream fast and hard and overwhelmingly _good_. 

“Witcher bladders,” Jaskier shakes his head in amazement and lets himself slump against Geralt’s shoulder in relief, “this is just _unfair_.” 

Geralt’s dismissive grunt sounds closer to a relieved moan as his stream finally begins to slow to a stop. It’s a similar sensation to stripping off his armour after a fight, a newly-appreciated weightlessness and an _immense_ sense of satisfaction. 

“You really have just been humouring me with our travel break schedule, haven’t you?” Jaskier sounds a little dazed and he still hasn’t looked away from the puddle Geralt’s left at the base of the wall. 

“Not…entirely.” Geralt shakes himself off and concentrates on refastening his trousers so he doesn’t have to look at Jaskier. “You smell distracting when you need to go.” 

Jaskier looks at him sharply. 

“Distracting _how_ , exactly?” 

Geralt sighs. “You _know_ how.” 

“I _suspected_ , but it’s certainly nice to have confirmation. It makes you _want_ me, doesn’t it?” Jaskier sounds utterly delighted by the prospect. “Every time? I may never visit the privy again!” He spreads his arms theatrically. “The famed White Wolf waylaid by the seductive scent of his bard’s bladder, whoever could have imagined?” 

Geralt’s already regretting giving so much away. If any part of this makes it into a song, even dressed up in metaphor, he really might have to start keeping Jaskier gagged. He’s momentarily distracted by the thought of Jaskier bound and gagged as Geralt fingers him open and decides it might be worth investing in a gag even if Jaskier behaves himself. 

Jaskier’s taken off his doublet and is carefully arranging it over his arm so it covers the stain on his trousers when he speaks again, quieter this time. 

“Well, I suppose it’s only fair. After all, you know how much I want _you_ full or empty or anywhere in between. And…” he clears his throat and rubs his fingers together absently, “…the other thing. That I feel. You know that one too.” 

Geralt _does_ know and he knows just as well that Jaskier’s avoiding the word entirely for his benefit. He can’t quite bring himself to respond in words so he pushes Jaskier back against the wall and kisses him, hard and heated until it softens into something slow and deep. Geralt hopes it conveys what he can’t say and, from the way the anxiety in Jaskier’s scent dissipates completely, he suspects it does. By the time he pulls away Jaskier’s flushed again but this time he’s relaxed and grinning and unmistakeably happy. 

“Now we have that settled,” he says brightly, attempting to straighten out the wrinkles left in his clothes by the alley wall, “you should know I refuse to defile this alley for the second night in a row. _But_ , if you would join me back in our room, I think I have _just_ the idea for a tiebreaker.” 

He winks suggestively and turns back to the inn. Geralt watches him walk away for only a few moments before he follows after him. 

After all, even he can admit that Jaskier sometimes comes up with some pretty great ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished!!!!
> 
> to everyone who commented, kudosed or just read and enjoyed: thanks so much for sticking around!! <3 I hope you liked this chapter and I extra hope to see you again for more axii omo fics in this series later ^.^

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it (especially you axii anon!), if you did please let me know! and, as always, come hang out with me on tumblr at diuretic-dandelions where you too can send me prompts that derail my entire brain for days on end!!


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